Saving Private Raven

On a dusky evening of an early fall, I and my consort were walking towards the doors of knowledge. We were waiting for our superior blokes to get relinquished from the portal of the goddess of wisdom. Meanwhile, to pass the time, we decided to explore the meadow.

There was an antiquated,  fathom-wide canal through which the dark liquid of terror flows. The entire city’s filth flowed through that conduit which was hundreds of leagues tall in measurement. In which all kinds of despicable and maleficent beings use to transit.

A tiny, loner, grey cloud was hovering above us like it was ready for some mischief. A little spark in the cloud had been noticed by my blurry eyes. Suddenly an object starts descending with a horrendous, spiraling motion. It was unclear what the thing was because it was carrying a froth of mist around it.

The entity fell into the furrow, with a burly ponderous splash, a horse-length away from us. It wasn’t an ordinary crash. The whammed object felt to possess some unique qualities. Only an unusual thing could make such a splash. We ran to the vantage point with angst building up in my heart.

I saw a dough of tar formed around it, moving very slowly with a stumpy fluid. With a jitter, a pair of pinions emerged from the marsh. Then I heard a loud croak. The kind of croak one can only hear in one’s nightmares.

It was a Raven but not one of your run-of-the-mill kind of birds. It was an unusual avian, it was as big as the size of a mature eagle may be bigger. I gazed upon the sky. The little cloud flew away rumbling as an urchin runs away chuckling after a misdemeanor. In this short period of time, the raven had been taken forward by the torrent.

My acquaintance brought back a staff to stop the rook from going further away. He stopped it along the farther side of the canal wall. The tar is still drowning the raven so I ran to the nearest oak tree. I jump on one of its branches and tore a cudgel from it. I made a hook out of it and came back to assist my colleague. We were finally able to extract the raven from the kill zone but it was still in the jaws of death and I was stuck.

No thought was passing through my anxious mind. The only thought which prevailed in existence was about successfully saving the Raven. Thoughts do not save, the action does and there I was without action and strategy.

Then a voice shattered my panic. “Let me handle the sticks,” said my ambidextrous partner in rescue. The voice was so confident that without a second thought I hypnotically relinquished my control to the unknown. I carefully switched my position and let the guy do the job. As He held the equipment of salvation in his stalwart hand, it was just a matter of seconds as he lifted the creature from the fatal current. The bird was palpitating as if holding its life in its abrupt quiver. He gently put the critical raven on the soft green bed of grass in the alp.

I launched myself vertically in overwhelming joy, and why not I’d saved a life of a mortal being. But after a couple of jumps I regain my solicitous stagnancy. “why isn’t it moving? What happened to...it’s not dead is it?” I asked in clutter. He prompts me to keep my calm “Wait, I don’t know...” and then he lifted the stem with the thickest base and threw the other. He turns the filthy fowl-emitting slug and grabbed its beak open. Then he gently starts pushing and brushing the stick over its breast. SNAP! It came back to life with a loud squeal.

I quickly drew my big, pearly, white handkerchief and wrapped the poor thing in it. We took it to the monastery of Knowledge on the apex of the hill. On the crown of the great, ancient institution, ‘Surya’, our primary sun, shined at its best even at the brink of dusk. We put the raven, that we had just saved, on the rostrum and my friend brought a saucer of water for it to drink. The rays of purity from the Helios burnt the slug and formed a thin membrane of hardened mud around the bird.

The raven slid towards the saucer and commenced drinking the liquid of verve. A new life had begun to explode in the creature, and suddenly with a shimmer, it break through the film of clay. It scoured its whole body and fluttered its wings to scatter away the shattered pieces of mud. The wings shone blazingly in the embellishment of the sun's rays. Next came the whirling of the wings and up it heaved like a ball from a canon.

After scaling a few yards of the sky, the much-obliged raven encircled us, twice, probably as a token of thanks, indebted to us for saving its life. And then, this another soldier of life, the private Raven flew into the evening sky and disappeared in the dusk.

Before completely vanishing into the heavens the raven relinquished some of its dark, black feathers as a souvenir for us. They were the feathers of grace. My friend took one and gave me the rest. I patted his shoulder in overwhelming awe.

As the guttural ‘CAANW CAANW’ of the rook perished in our ears we entered the gates of knowledge with the everlasting memory of SAVING PRIVATE RAVEN.

Walk for Walking

Walking on the long deserted path
I see no man, no beast, no plant,
nor a tree,
how could from this wasteland I be free?

Just desert, bloody red desert
As far as I can see,
Gravel, sand from which I can’t flee.

My legs were weak, hands no more than meek.
The thirsts were strangling my gullet.
An Horrible Ache is piercing my temples like a bullet.

The eyes were burning from the malevolent blast.
Roasting me like a forgery cast.

The life thriving sun had became an archer
Throwing scorching swelter rays
Cauterizing my scalp and
charring the face black.

The cruel torrid path
which Possesses the deepest fissure,
Which could swallow your soul
Into its chasm in its most leisure.

In this place of phantasm gang,
I saw a manifestation coming towards me
Through the mirage watered land.

It was a human in the most traditional attire.
Attire that no man could avoid
To put their gaze on.

I refuse to believe it
Coz it could be another cerebration drain.
Like many before which had only
Broke my heart and tired my brain.

I was about to drop bleached on the ground.
But then a sound battered my ear drum.
a sound
Which was spiritually very profound.

“don’t fall boy” said the man of the desert.
I pay heed to this stranger Calling me name
When we don’t even know each other
in our respective distinction of fame.

Who art thee? I inquire in bewilderment.
“I am thine lord and master in this banishment.”
“But I have no lord”
I insisted despite being on the bed of death.
He poured some water in my mouth
that revert my breath.

He asked “What doth thou seek my son?”
I assert that I’m tramping
in the search of purpose and fun.
“where is thine family, why thou art alone?”
I have no family nor sheltered no home.
The stranger gave me drenching wine and bun.

With respect and admission I ask
“oh my savior, yea my lord from where hath thee come?”
“ME the lord of desert, come for thy rescue.
Me the master Of dead land
suggest path to the roving souls”

“ ’tis the right path me lord
that thou suggests through thine perception?”
“I tell not the answers they seek,
I tell experiences that
in my beautiful life I’d meet.”

I ask in complete awe
“then what path
Thy experiences have for me my lord?”

“the path of life,
the experience of living,
first thou hath ‘choose to believe’
That thou hath ultimate choice,
But thee art not cussed
And thou deserve trust,
benevolence and Love
To yield the fruit of life
And then thou will be on
the path of purpose with fun”

He offered me his flagon
and as I took a savory quaff from the carafe.
The mysterious lord of the arid barrens,
Were melted away in my aerate.

I thought about him for many moments,
Sitting on the red boulder in contemplation.

Then I got up and start WALKING
On the path I named life,
With a carafe full of wine.

I now have the trust,
the benevolence
The love which I need for this walk.
I’ll find both fun and purpose
in the chosen path.

But till the desert is here
I’ll have the path to ‘my path’
as the purpose
And the wine for the fun and cheer.

Hence I walk with A love without fear.
and I walk to meet you
my most beautiful destined dear.

मै ! ... ?

क्या उतम है और क्या अपूर्ण ये मुझे कौन बताएगा ?

मै नहीं जानता मुझे क्यूँ बुलाया गया इस धरती पर 

किन्तु मुझे ये आभास है कि कोई अज्ञात ही मुझे ले जायेगा।

मैने देखा है इस जहान को अपनी मासूम नज़रों से, 

उन आखों में कभी थी एक सुन्दर दुनिया। 

अब एक सपना है जो अतीत के पल्लू से लटका हुआ है 

और भविष्य कि उस कमज़ोर रस्सी का सिरा ढूंड रहा है। 

पर अब इस वर्तमान कि कलम का क्या 

जो ज़िंदगी के काग़ज़ पे इश्क़ का अंधा फ़रमान लिखती है? 

इश्क़ कि इस दुनिया पे शक है मुझे मगर नफ़रत करने वालों को भी इश्क़ करते देखा है।

वो पूजते हैं मुझे विनम्र समझ के लेकिन 

वो ये नहीं जानते कि मै ही वो छिपी इर्ष्या हूँ 

जो नफ़रत को जनम देती है।

मै कौन हूँ? मेरा नाम है क्या? ये मै ख़ुद नहीं जानती,

किन्तु आप मुझे जानने कि कोशिश मे कहीं खुद से ही इर्ष्या ना करने लगें।

नफ़रत का वो दौर निकल भी गया और मै यहीं रही।

इन थकी हुई आँखों से मैने एक बार फिर तुझे देखा, 

तुझमे मुझे तेरा और सिर्फ़ तेरा सत्य दिखा। 

अचानक से तू मुझे ख़ूबसूरत लगने लगा ।

मुझे नहीं पता था कि इस तरह ज़िंदगी मेरा नज़रिया बदल देगी, 

तेरे पास होने पर, तेरे साथ होने पर

नफ़रत से घायल इन आँखों को ठंडक मिलने लगेगी।

एक विद्युत सी जैसे दौड़ी हों मेरे बेजान बदन में 

जिसने दिल और दिमाग का मेल कर दिया। 

ह्रदय पुनः चिंतन करने लगा जिसमे एक नयी 

धड़क्ती अग्नि का प्रवाह हुआ और मस्तिष्क फिर से सव्पनों में विमुक्त होने लगा।

हिंसा के इस उजाड़ शेहर में, 

नफ़रत के उन अंधेरे खंडरो के मलबे से 

सदियों बाद फिर एक पवित्र प्रकाश फूटता है।

जो सारे आस्मां को रौशनी में सराबोर कर देता है।

मै खड़ी तेरा हाथ पकड़े, उस गगन को निहारती रहती हूँ, 

और कहती हूँ 

“अब हमारे पास ये सारा ब्रह्मांड है, आओ प्यार की एक नयी कहानी रचदें” 

मेरे सवाल अभी भी अनसुल्झे हैं पर शायद; 

यही वो रहस्य है जो प्रेम को ज़िंदा रखता है, 

वही उत्तम है और वो ही अपूर्ण।

HARMONY of CHAOS

Universe has a music
So as the planets
The plants and the mountains
The oceans and the rivers
The birds and the animals
All the nature’s harmony
But there is another harmony
My harmony
The harmony of chaos
The harmony of panic Within me
It’s been there from the starting
But it hadn’t made me dance
It is something which doesn’t creates joy
It is anarchy in peace,
It’s persuasive
Keeps me pushing Continuously
to do something
It’s like somebody is lurking inside me
And thrusting me outwards
With a immense force
An invincible power
It is happening right now
Now, and then after the now I
n the next now
Even in the next then
Like a same record is playing Again and again
Unrecognizable, ineffable
And it never comes to end
Never halts
Just keeps on going
Painfully engaging is what this chaos is
Trance but not transcendent
The mind is too little,
Too weak
for this chaotic symphony
Don’t know what happens
when an agitated leopard
got trapped in a cage
made of leaf and dry straws
that’s the situation with my consciousness.
In this case Only one thing is certain
And that is
This harmony is not going to slow down
This harmony of chaos will...

GIRL

The love is flowing all over her
like honey dripping on the frenzy bear’s fur
she sees me good,
Walking down on a black and grey road
so pleasant was Her gait and demeanor
Rapturous
I know she gave me a glance
Yes she looked at me
Girl

Her toe nails are glowing in red
but hands are so simple and finger so well
no Vanity
Her eyes so big like a jungle owl
but take no offence it’s not meant a foul
on your persona
Don’t let it fuck up your mind
coz it’s a complement
Girl

Your floaters all red but on its strip
Written in cloudy white emerging that is
Engraved is “love”
The little round hair bun was so ram
that it held the scalp so tight and un-mal
You looked so Amorous
I want to make love to you girl
Don’t you want the same?
Girl

wondering

Sometimes they talk good,
but then the fear
make them corrupt.
The dread of being thrown,
out from the very family
which they made themselves
The family which won't
have any existence,
The family which can't
thrive without them.
Sometimes they talk good...

VANITY and ME

What is the purpose of vanity when everything is futile. Then why this extravagant display of the plasticity.

I see how the makeup, this masque of false beauty get washed away during the times of great sorrow.
At the very urgency of life we somehow boycott the pretentious vanity, thus we don’t care anymore about the forced hypocrisy at the scarcity of happiness.

What happen then? Are we enlightened or we felt the awakening?
If not then what is that which take over this addictive ornamentation?

Some say “it’s the harmony of life, love, affection, care. Indeed these emotional entities do have their affect but none of it is the pivotal driving force behind it.
FEAR, the dreadful thought of losing the material world and thus unwontedly relinquishing this habit of hypocrisy.

I try to feel the flawless conscious BRHAMAAND in the time of emotional and affectionate scarcity. I think I didn’t feel any fear of future or this ‘love for material’. But the horrifying nightmare of the present, that could happen this very moment.

I am worried about the future regardless of the vanity of what to come but to know that I am here and most possibly will be there at the times of responsibility.

I don’t want to undone anything not to change neither to control but to flow away from its course so that the present couldn’t intimidate me. This extreme feeling of irresponsibility in me or the fear of facing the responsibility is the reason for this, may be.

I left the masque since then but have no realm to stay. I know I can’t find anything.

But I just want to feel ...

LOST in the Facade

WHAT DO I SEE?

I see a flock, flock o people capable individual intellect. But still a herd greedy for the forage they can't digest. I see constant covert hypnosis by the preachers of education through the saucer of competitive consumerism to lure the beef heads for comprehensive self gain.

WHY AM I HERE THEN?

I mean here, in this perpetual illusion-ary system.

The answer is that "I don't know, i know but i don't wanna tell, What you wanna here?"

Can give you as many assertion of these interpellations as possible.

Because i am the mind and the mechanism behind this system. Without my element of apathy, unawareness, fundamentalism, greed, insecurity and fear this system can't be flourished.

I see some pseudo daring cattle that try or mostly pretend to show that they are challenging the subtle possessive art of the system. But in there consciousness they wanted to be fed that same crap disguised as royal regale. There initiative is already sublimated to the system. They don't want to know what's beneath the ground in the fear of what it might be. Dirty, dreadful, filthy and with the peril that the filth will be reflected upon them and will aid there insecurities to gallop them.

WHAT ELSE?

The other type of pseudos, the pseudoacquantances. They try to modify the relationship in accordance with their greed. When the satisfactory toy of self assurances remained starved, they urge you to accuse and interrogate the system. This is the famine generated in their self defensive mind against the elevated thoughts and intellect. They see you as a shield and weapon to avoid direct engagement. They push you to do something they can't nor wanted to do.

WHY AM I TAKING THIS ABUSE?

I am a pussy, a traitor of my own ambition and bravery.

WHAT SHOULD I DO?

I know the answer the actual question is

WHEN I AM GONNA START DOING IT?

DON'T WANT TO SQUANDER IT.

           DON'T SQUANDER IT.

DEE COMMON MAN

He was born in the past millennium in the suburbs of a major metropolitan city named HASTHINAPUR. Apart from all the things, the phrase “the common man” was the most mythical phrase that had alluded him more than anything. Since he was born, he had acquired a label on his forehead (apart from being a Brahman) a ‘middle classist’ (in the more modern sense of the society) or ‘the common man’ (in that of the classical one.). He grew up only to whitnes the dexterous maneuvers of this phrase around the path of an escapist life. 

“A common man, what does that even mean? Who are these people? Everybody say that they are every where; they are the most enduring form of human life. Then why? Why haven’t I had met with any of them so far? Where are they?” these were the questions he asked from himself. 

And thus began a greatest quest of finding. If these words were used 2000 year ago, nobody would have extracted anything meaningful from them. This is simply because it hadn't came into existence then, so, there were no records or documentation about the usage of these words. Our boy first heard this phrase on a television set when a middle age man in white Khadi apparel was squealing vociferously in front of a thousand people who were sitting on the ground, lauding and cheering for him. The more he used that phrase in his extempore more the people applauded him. The boy was juvenile and had little understanding of language and hence, had no clue what the old man was shouting about. But that word had grasped his attention like it did with the numerous people on the TV and that captivated his mind. 

 He started getting promoted in his classes and developed a decent interest in literature and languages. He was the best in writing essays among all the students of many sections of many classes. Owing to his simple and calligraphic writing his talent has developed into something extraordinary and irresistible. He also frequently used his favorite, magical idiom in his essay writings, in his exams and in the morning speeches he use to gave very nicely and positively. He was praised by the faculty and his teachers. 

One day he came home with a good news that the principal had selected him for an inter-school speech writing contest out of 3000 other children of his school. He would be competing with 200 other school children from all over the country. His mother became overwhelmingly delightful and felt blessed about her family. She lifted her boy like she used to when he was little. Although he was in his early teens and just a few inches shorter than her, it was quite difficult for his mother to lift him now. But she was on the seventh heaven of joy. She put him down and kissed his forehead and told that she was proud of him. 

In the evening when his father came back home from the temple, the mother told him about their boy’s achievement ambitiously. His father was a priest and took care of the accounts related matters of the local Brahmin association. After hearing the proud news he showered his love on his son and prayed to god for his competent accomplishment. The mother also told his father that the school needs entry fees of 500 for his registration. The father’s forehead frowned with fluster and he sat down beside his son holding his hand. The mother knows why this was so, that was because her husband was just a priest and out of the little money he earned was spent on the household expenses and rest was given for his school fees. Since the boy was studying in a well reputed public school, the cost of education was very high in that kind of institute. 

The mother’s eyes became saturated and the tears started dripping down from her eyes. The mother felt contempt about herself because he was their only child and it’s the first time he had asked for something and she couldn’t help him. She ran in the kitchen to hide her tears from her son. His father was a wise man and a noble priest. He elucidates his son about their condition and said “son we are common people of a middle class, we can’t have the luxuries of life like the high society people enjoy and sometimes we have to compromise on our ambitions and desires”. 

These phrases had sabotaged his dreams and he became very disappointed. But more dismally it had shattered his illusions on the awesomeness and beauty of the hypnotic word ‘the common man’. 

From then onwards his thinking about this utterance had started changing and a shifting of perception started taking place. He came to know that it is widely used by the powerful people to tame the peasants by creating a sense of relativity among them and hence gaining their support and trust. 

Then began his college days where he understood the people who were not only in power but also were using these words for various purposes. He learned how to slip these phrases into a conversation to end it at your wish. He got educated in fact that how frequently ‘the common man’ was used in daily, day to day routine to create or evade a situation. The boys use it for making all kind of excuse to him like ‘I don’t have a girlfriend because’, ‘I can’t fight because’, ‘I can’t go to that party because’, ‘I can’t do post graduation because’, ‘I can’t do what I want to because’ and ‘I can’t be what I want to be because’ I am a common man. 

The sweepers used it, the teachers used it, the police commissioner used it even the Prime Minister of the country used it. The boy had already lost the affection for the words in his teen age and now as an adult he was starting to develop hostility against it. 

He got graduated from his college with the upgraded understanding about the syllable. He started writing for a top-notch newspaper in the editorial section and also became a free lance journalist. He was gifted in this kind of writing and was a perfect asset for the newspaper. But he also had chosen freelancing to explore the truth not for others but for his own illumination. He saw that ‘common man’ was also a hot dye in the press business and it kept the paper's circulations sturdy apart from the advertizing which was the main source of income of the newspaper. 

Years went by and he secured a position in the top panel of the editor and also became the blue-eyed-boy of the editor in chief. But he didn’t quit the freelancing because it kept him busy to find something new and truthful about the old misconceptions. It also kept propelling his hunt for the meaning of that syllable which he’d once thought very magical. By the time he became deputy editor he had established himself in the media world and became a famous name among the communication and media personalities. 

He was popular but most of the people didn’t like him due to his fiery writing style and irrevocable state of opinion. His own news paper personals called him a stubborn man who never writes anything in the favor of any class of society or the investors who aid this newspaper. The editor himself had to postpone his retirement for next five years due to his self righteous prejudice. They can’t fire him due his huge fan following maximum of which were from NGOs, social activists and protestors of one or another kind. 

He was no longer an explorer of truth but a preacher of reality but also because he was no longer young enough to carry those extremely exhausting expeditions of findings. He thought that what he had known was enough for a life time and none of that was worthy of his labor, at least not positive enough to tell a tale to rejoice. He helped needy people but also at the same time he criticize them for their peasantry, he kept on destroying the reputation of powerful people like politicians and bureaucrats but also praise and advocates their power of deception to personal gain. This was the reason why they call him ‘the gifted news writer’ and this was the exact same reason why they wanted to made him extinct. 

Then came the historic night when he wrote the most important article of his life. The editor was sick and on a leave for a week. Now he had the power to run the place and was going to do what he wanted to for a long time. He quietly gathered his resources and subtly placed his sources and guileless followers in the press to print the Sunday edition of 26 January. He printed a small column in every single page of the newspaper dismembering all of the reputed and powerful personalities of the nation. He put in his all knowledge and finding of his exploring life to that edition of the news paper. It was as grand as the mythical ‘SAGAR MANTHAN’ which tripled the sale of the newspaper on republic day but the editor had fired him instantly. The paper evoked a huge response all over the country. Thousands of protestor who praised him and gathered around his house and others who were against him protested in the television media. They were the powerful people who were defending themselves by claiming him as a fake and treacherous person. 

But there was a huge section of people which was silent, which call themselves ‘THE COMMON MAN’ and they were thinking very intensely. The article was written on the front page by a little boy who had fell in love with that word but witnessed the shattering of his expectations when the myth about it was disavowed by the truth. 

The heading of the article was bold in the biggest available font and it read LISTEN YOU, THE COMMON PEOPLE 

“Either you are a pageant or you are extravaganza but you are not what you claim to be. You, the so called common man. I loved you when I was an urchin but my love was based on the false myth surrounding you. I accepted you in me because I thought you were magical and powerful and you were everywhere. You thing by calling yourself with this name will make you magical, or you think it can make you feel proud just because it was mythically well described and meekly portrait. 

This is a big misunderstanding for those who are educated but dumb like a child in a huge toy store. Who think they can get the best toy by crying aloud and using their “I am a child” phrase. Get the hell out from that imbecile behavior of yours. 

And this is a big trick from those who think they can get anything by pretending themselves as the caretaker of the miserable and posing as one of them in order to gain their personal interest. 

Today I am here to enlighten you that whenever you classify yourself as a common man you are actually making a fool of yourself and your pity existence get fooled by this every time whenever you want it to be.

 You say that god has made us a common man because we are the grittiest human beings, we can endure anything in this world. To tell you the truth this is also a foolish excuse to run away from the reality. The reality is that we are not brave or gritty but rather we are timorous and cowards of life. 

We always whine about the lack of money, power, status and individuality of our own and often compared them to the high classers and we damn them with our selfish maledictions. We don’t want to embrace the truth that we are using this irresolute idiom to escape the self-confession about our scabby quitter self. 

We use it because it is easy to say and get away with it. You don’t have to do anything alien, out of your comfort zone but only have to say that ‘I am a common man, what could I do?’ 

Bullshit! You are afraid from fighting a good fight which is not with anybody else but with the common man creeping inside you. The same common man who is telling you to relinquish what is yours to the tyrant oppressors for the love of your pathetic life. 

By hypnotically following ‘common man’ not only you are making yourself vulnerable but fortifying and encouraging the treacherous to suck you up till death. 

So cut the fucking victim act and use your wisdom to gather the strength to pulverize the enemy, the common man and evolve yourselves from this pathetic life. 

We all are not UNIQUE but we aren't common like DUST for god sake! Don’t waste yourself in fake humility of the plebian culture. 

We do not use that word again, abandon that utterance which reflects you as a weak and coward. 
We do not deny the fight for the eternity of our soul just because somebody said ‘you are a common man’. We Fight it with the sword of our distinction and defend it with the shield of our idiosyncrasy. 

To Metamorphosis of us from a commoner to a unique. Make us evolve from the dread. To find the unique from the common.” 

 I don’t know what happened to that boy who had fell in love with ‘the common man’ neither do I know what happen to that fiery article writer who had learnt the truth about the mythical word. But what I do know is that he had taught the world the lesson of courage by shattering the rusted scaffolding of their coward excuses. 

The world is not a place for dead people or for those who accept thier fate like a person dying with cancer accepts his death.

Resolute Music

Music is the trance, it gives you an euphoric experience
and sends you to a divine world of harmony.

Phrases and words gives you the awareness.
If you combine these two you will get a song.

It creates the most powerful language in the world.
With this virtue we can render and manifest anything to anyone.

But the people should not be so selfish to corrupt it for their own greed.

This will only mislead  the conscious being to dark
and there will be a dreadful waste of this sacred humility of the harmony.

So I urge the talented ones, not to squander
this gift of forte in narcissism and boastfulness.

But to sparse it for the awareness and enlightenment of the bourgeois.
It have to have a purpose.

The tea cup of life

So I was drinking tea in my old steel cup and on the top of it I saw a bubble. It was sticking on the inside wall of the cup and was slowly sliding down. I started to blow over it so that it could fly off from the cup like a soap bubble. I relinquished a long blow of wind and it made the bubble to move upwards but then, just as it reached the edge of the cup it had stopped. I blew again but it won’t move though half of it was outside in the air ready to fly. It was just holding on to the edge like a person holding on to the edge of a cliff. If it let go of the edge it would meet its end. Eventually my breath gave up and the bubble slid down like a family man who had just escaped his death. "But we don't know if he was going to die for sure, he could have been flying by now instead of sighing and celebrating the great escape" i said to myself "He could have set himself free but he chose to slide down".

After, when it came down, I blew on it again but this time towards the dry side of the cup. It slide a few micro meters smoothly but then it stopped like a race car driver suddenly pulls the hand brakes of his fast moving vehicle. The bubble won’t move because the moisture aiding it to slide was absorbed by the dry wall of the cup. So I blew harder and this time it was not only resisting moving up but also retreating against the mighty current of the wind. Just like the people who choose not to walk on the unknown path and follow their mundane routes. And they resist just like the bubble was resisting the blow and they will do anything in their power to hinder the force which encourage or tend them to pursue the seldom path for the unknown.

But I wanted it to fly, so I blew again, and this time with a furious power to chuck it out of the cup with a jolt. But this time it  had bursted instantaneously after a displaying a wispy struggle. And then, at that moment, it struck me that the life of a person is just like this bubble in this tea cup situation.

Isn’t this the philosophy of life?

FURY part2: TORTURE

Captivity imposes solitary, anxiety and dreadful environment. And there is another element which aids in the agony of the captive that is torture. Inside the cage, everything from the outside world is a torture no matter how polite or encouraging it is. Solitude and captivity became hazardous when aided by torture but it doesn’t kill you. The tragedy is you never die from torture because if you do they will lose the fun of having a beautiful captive in their lives.

Then why, why they do a torture? Just for the fun of it. No they do it because it makes you sick and miserable. It cut down your reinforcement of mental toughness and makes you incapable of resisting. It makes sure that you do not even think to recollect your power to fight back and break free.

Fighting against torture is a usual stimulus response. It makes you stronger and enduring but the beauty of it is that it does not prepare you to fight from captivity. It has had developed a kind of memory (mental or physical) which helps you to fight the torture in your second cessation. That means if you had able to emancipate from your first captivity the things you had learnt and experienced from that, will aid you in future. But it is not going to happen because you can’t escape the captivity excepted already by you.  

The best thing about the torture is that harming you physically is the least thing it do. The catch comes when you became retarded and you know the wide aspects of torture.

You think the torture will spare you because nobody wants you dead inside. No, it will eat you up like a rabble of termites and finally you will become an empty vessel. A void weeds pot, your life and you which has no marijuana in it. Your soul will be dismembered and your body becomes pathetic. And this will be the time when they unrestrained your rotting body and leave it on the altar. At the same altar the vultures of the society will tear and eat you to death.

now that's What I call a beautiful end to a fruitful life!